


Unfinished Business

by Helholden



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Inappropriate Humor, Mentioned Malia Tate, Peter is a Little Shit, Pre-Relationship, Set during season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:14:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3859762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia is stranded. Peter has to help. Not that he wants to, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished Business

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write something light and cute to make up for all the godawful dark stuff I'd written lately.
> 
> This is about as fluffy as I get, though.

* * *

 

The rain came down in heavy tendrils, streaming off the roof above. He wouldn’t have answered the door this late, but the banging was simply intolerable.

 

Answering the door proved to be even more of a conundrum. There stood Lydia Martin, soaked to the bone, staring at him with wild eyes that brimmed with the brightness of unspoken anger. Peter knew that look all too well. Last he checked, though, he hadn’t done anything recently to Lydia to warrant such a look.

 

Lydia stalked right into the loft without so much as an invitation. Peter raised his eyebrows as he shut the entrance, turning around to keep an eye on her.

 

She paused halfway into the loft, faced him, and glared.

 

“You look like something is on your mind,” Peter finally said aloud, deciding to break the uncomfortable silence. She clearly came here for a reason, and such an entrance piqued his interest no doubt.

 

“My car broke down,” Lydia said, hands tightly balled up in fists at her sides.

 

Peter widened his eyes. “Well, _I_ didn’t do it.”

 

Lydia exhaled heavily. “I’m not saying you _did_ ,” she added, a forced smile on her lips and her teeth beginning to chatter. Slowly, Lydia glanced around the loft but maintained her stiff posture. “This was the closest place I could walk,” she finally said in a lower voice. “I thought Derek would be here . . . ”

 

Peter understood without her saying further. “Well, he’s . . . not.” He cocked his head. “Don’t you have a phone?” he asked.

 

“I dropped it,” Lydia said, her voice falling further. “It slipped out of my hands in the rain, cracked on the pavement. The battery case broke open, and water got in, so I couldn’t call anyone—” Lydia’s breath hitched as emotion clouded up her face. She still wasn’t looking at him either.

 

“Well,” Peter said, “that’s a string of bad luck.” He wasn’t _trying_ to be insensitive to Lydia, so he took a step forward—and then paused when he noticed her eyes shooting up to stare at him. Peter decided to gesture toward the bathroom before moving again. “Could I get you a towel so you’re not dripping all over the floor?”

 

Lydia looked surprised for only a second, and then she masked it well. While she didn’t answer him out loud, she did tilt her head in a quiet affirmation.

 

Peter left long enough to grab the towel and come back with it, holding it out to her. He didn’t feel comfortable draping it on her. She took it, but didn’t say thank you, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Peter reached into his pocket for his phone, holding that out to her as well.

 

“Call one of your friends,” he said. He expected her to take it and for him to walk away to give her privacy to talk, but Lydia only stared in horror at his phone.

 

She glanced around the loft again, more anxious this time. “Is there an apartment phone? A house phone?”

 

“Derek and I only have cell phones,” Peter deadpanned. “Go on, take it.”

 

He held it out again.

 

Lydia only stared at it. “I’ll wait,” she said, and then added hastily, “—for Derek to come back.”

 

Peter dropped his arm. He was starting to get frustrated, and besides, he didn’t know when Derek was going to be back. “Derek could be out all night. Are you willing to wait that long?” He shoved his phone back into his pocket again and walked away. “Why does everyone act like I have supernatural cooties?” Peter asked no one in particular, speaking more to the room than her.

 

He made it four steps, and he halted.

 

Peter turned around.

 

“Are you saying you’d rather stay here, alone, with me, than let your friends see you call them from _my_ phone?”

 

Lydia bristled at his suggestion. It looked funny. The towel was bunched under her chin as she held it closed with her hands, so it looked like she was sinking into it as her shoulders went up, but Lydia didn’t say anything because she likely didn’t want to provoke him further.

 

“Wow,” Peter said a moment later as it finally sunk in. He turned away from her again and walked off, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He just _couldn’t_ , so he turned around for the second time and held up a finger as he added, “You know, that’s a compliment. That you prefer my company over the inevitable judgment of your friends. No, really, I’m flattered, Lydia.”

 

Lydia glared at him.

 

“Peter,” she said calmly. “Shut up.”

 

Peter wanted to say something else. He felt the itch at the back of his tongue, but he pushed it down. She already had a horrible night. He would be a jackass if he only made it worse, so Peter turned away this time for good and made his way to the other side of the loft to sit down and focus on something else while Lydia was here, waiting on Derek.

 

He wasn’t alone for very long until Lydia came over, sitting down a full cushion away from him. Peter barely registered her movement or her arrival except for to glance up for a moment and pull back, closing the manila folder he was holding in his hands in order to hide the files he was looking at. Lydia noticed, furrowing her brow.

 

“What’s that?” she asked.

 

Peter didn’t answer her. He blinked, mulling it over. He wasn’t sure he wanted to share the information, let alone with her of all people, but Lydia was here right now and it was her who had given him the name in the first place. Peter sighed, holding out the manila folder to her.

 

Lydia reached out, taking it. She opened it up, silent at first, and then gasped. As soft as a whisper, she breathed out one word.

 

A name.

 

“Malia . . . ” She held the folder up a little bit more, examining the paper on top. “This is a birth certificate.” Lydia glanced up at him, appearing more confused. “Why do you have this?”

 

Peter gave her a look, tilting his head to the side. “She’s my daughter,” he said as if it explained everything. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Lydia gave him an inscrutable look in response, but said nothing as she glanced back down at the certificate. “Have you tried talking to her?”

 

This wasn’t a conversation Peter ever expected to be having with Lydia Martin, so naturally, he wasn’t sure what to say. It felt odd. Uncomfortable, too, though Lydia seemed more at ease than she did before. “No,” he finally said. “I haven’t.”

 

“You should,” Lydia said, handing him back the folder. “Talk to her. You want to, or you wouldn’t have these papers.”

 

Peter swallowed past an uncomfortable tightness in his throat. It wasn’t the topic, but who shared in the conversation. He didn’t answer her. She didn’t push for one. He noticed as Lydia pulled her legs up on the couch to get comfortable, remaining close instead of walking away again.

 

The last time they were alone, they weren’t really alone. Allison was with them, and it was in this same room. In this very same loft.

 

But Allison was dead now.

 

Just like her aunt.

 

He wanted to say something biting. Something smart. It was in his nature, the very worst of it, but he didn’t say anything at all. He couldn’t bring himself to.

 

They sat in mutual silence until Derek came home, the only burst of sound in the quiet loft that Derek startled himself with his own voice when he spoke, and he stopped after noticing Lydia sitting across the couch from Peter. He glanced from Lydia to Peter, and then back again.

 

“Is everything all right?” Derek asked, raising his eyebrows.

 

“Everything is fine,” Peter said, and then the smart remark finally came. “Except that hair. You look like a _porcupine_.”

 

Lydia actually smiled. She didn’t laugh, but she smiled.

 

Peter stood up. “She needs to borrow your phone,” he explained to Derek. “Her car broke down, cell phone malfunctioned, and she walked _all_ the way here.” He walked past them, not bothering to look to see if Lydia was even grateful. “And my cell phone’s out of minutes,” he lied effortlessly.

 

Peter didn’t know why he lied about that.

 

“That’s a first,” he heard Derek say somewhere behind him.

 

Derek immediately fetched out his phone, though, and gave it to Lydia. As they sorted things out, Peter thought he was finally off the hook of playing babysitter. His phone buzzed quietly in his pocket. He dug it out and looked at it. It was a text.

 

When he opened it up, it was from Derek’s cell.

 

 _Thank you_.

 

Peter wasn’t going to look over his shoulder. He told himself that at least five times in his head. That text wasn’t from Derek. He knew that. He fought the urge until curiosity won out because it was always stronger than his common sense, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Lydia Martin glancing over her shoulder at him while Derek was focusing on opening his laptop at the table. Lydia didn’t smile, but her face seemed to be content that he had looked back.

 

She turned away, sitting straight again with her back to him, and engaged herself with something else. He couldn’t see what.

 

His phone buzzed again. Peter looked at it.

 

 _I’ll owe you a towel_.

 

His mind raced with at least three horrible responses he could make to that, but he typed none of them. Peter had to think about it. He had never said anything of that nature to her before, had he? He narrowed his eyes. No, he hadn’t. She was only seventeen.

 

 _Consider it on the house_ , was his response. It was tasteful. Legal, even.

 

Why, that was leaps and bounds for him.

 

Before she left, Peter was sure she had deleted the texts in Derek’s phone so there was no lingering evidence of their conversation. It didn’t stop Derek from dialing Peter’s number, causing him to scoop the phone out of his pocket when it started to buzz and he thought Derek wasn’t looking.

 

“I knew it,” Derek simply said.

 

Peter rolled his eyes, closing them. “Knew what?”

 

“You have minutes on your phone.”

 

“And your point is?” Peter asked, turning around to face him.

 

Derek was in the middle of eating ramen noodles, the bright light of the laptop highlighting his face from under his chin. He stared at Peter. It was nonchalant at first, but then it grew serious. “Don’t even think about it,” Derek said. He didn’t even blink while he chewed on his noodles. “She’s seventeen.”

 

“You know,” Peter began, unable to let it go, “I would have said I _bit_ her and put her in the hospital, but you’re right, Derek.” Peter raised his eyebrows, pursing his lips, and gave an affirmative nod at his nephew. “Seventeen,” he concurred.

 

Derek narrowed his eyes just slightly. He was quiet for a moment, chewing more noodles.

 

“I’m watching you,” he finally said, spinning away.

 

Peter raised his eyebrows and ignored it. Derek was likely just being a smartass because he could get away with it, and so Peter got up to leave.

 

“ _Seventeen!_ ” Derek called out behind him.

 

Peter only answered him with a raised middle finger as he walked out.

 

 


End file.
